


A Reason To Breathe

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: (not much tho), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual Underage Sex, F/M, Forbidden Love, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Infidelity, Secret Relationship, Size Difference, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:18:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22100152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Set in an AU where Joffrey did marry Sansa and Sandor chose to stay in King’s Landing:A desperate and hopeless Sansa comes to Sandor in the night and asks him to kill her, instead he gives her a reason to breathe.
Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark
Comments: 11
Kudos: 120





	A Reason To Breathe

It wasn’t so much that Sansa wanted to die, it was more that she felt herself dying and wanted to die on her own terms. By the merciful hand of someone she trusts, not withering away for Joffrey’s satisfaction.

After Joffrey passed out, the burning reek of alcohol on his breath, Sansa eased out of their bed and had a bath drawn. She scrubbed herself until her skin was pink and raw, until her arms ached with the exertion, until tears soaked her face. The fresh welts on her back stung in the hot water but she didn’t mind it, she could handle pain as long as she was clean.

This had been her nightly routine for the past year. But she was still not with child, a fact that enraged Joffrey and his mother. Sansa thought it was worth a thousand beatings and berating for no child to have to be raised with Joffrey for a father. Sansa wanted children more than anything, but not like this.

Sansa tried not to think about the fact that she’d never know her children, that she’d never see her siblings again. These were things she already knew, things that were true now and would remain true after her death.

Her death. She still hadn’t fully processed that. Maybe it was better if she didn’t, did anyone really process their own death? Or is it something that just happens for most people? Sansa assumes the latter. Her father hadn’t seen his death coming, neither had she.

Perhaps The Hound wouldn’t even do it. A year ago he had been willing to steal her away in the night, but she had refused him and maybe he had given up on her after that. The thought caused a fresh lump to rise in her throat. No, Killing is the sweetest thing there is, The Hound had said. He’ll do it. He has to, because Sansa doesn’t have the courage to do it herself. 

—-

Sansa found The Hound in an alley outside a bar. The brisk autumn winds nipped at her still damp scalp and the stale, cold smell of night filled her nostrils.

“Pardon me, My Lord.” Sansa called for him as he passed. 

“Seven hells, what the fuck are you doing lurking in alleyways?” 

“I was looking for you. I’m afraid I must ask a favor of you.” 

Something in Sansa’s voice made his face shift from annoyance to something similar to what she had seen during the battle of black water. It made Sansa’s heart flutter with hope as Sandor marched into the alley, grabbing her arm without stopping and dragging her deeper into the darkness. 

Sansa was not afraid of the dark or The Hound, not anymore. When they were safely out of earshot of anyone else, Sansa smiled sadly at him.

“What do you need, little bird?” 

Tell me to kill him. I’ll do it, just fucking ask me. Sandor thought as she groped for the right words. 

“I want you to kill me, Sandor.”

The air around Sandor seemed to still. Whether it was because she’d called him by his name, only his name with no ‘Ser’ horseshit, or because she was asking him to kill her, he didn’t know. 

“What?” Sandor could find no other words.

A moment of madness took over Sansa, and she reached to grab his sword. His hand was on hers by the time her fingertip graced the steel. Sandor’s grip was too tight, she felt her bones grind together, but she didn’t mind. 

“It is a mercy kill that I’m asking for, begging for.” Sansa swallowed her tears, continuing in as strong a voice as she could muster. “You once told be that you aren’t awful, the world is. The world is awful, too awful for me to survive in. Prove to me that you aren’t the same, Sandor.” 

She finishes pulling out his sword, his hand remaining over hers. Sansa places her chin on the tip of the blade. “Show me your mercy. Show me. Please.” Her voice finishes in a whimper.

Sandor hears his own breath coming fast and frightened, it has been a long time since he’s heard himself sound like this, and he tries not to think about why the thought of a world without Sansa Stark is so terrifying to him. 

He doesn’t know what to say, what words to use to convince her the world is worth staying in when he isn’t sure about that himself.

“Kill me!” Sansa’s voice suddenly sharpens to a hiss, causing Sandor to flinch and the blade to nip her chin. Only a droplet or two of red trickles down her throat, Sandor’s eyes linger on them.

Sansa’s neck is as birdlike as the rest of her, made of long, delicate bones and covered in porcelain flesh. Sandor yanks Sansa’s wrist off the sword with a growl that sounds far too close to a sob. When did I start crying? Sandor thinks angrily. Something about Sansa Stark makes it far too easy to cry.

Perhaps he meant to dry his tears. Perhaps he simply stumbled into her. Sandor isn’t sure, and neither is Sansa, but in their next breath Sandor’s lips are on her throat. Just touching her at first, his breath warming her flesh with every desperate exhale and his scarred cheeks rough against her jaw. 

Then his tongue is on her. Sansa’s gasp melts to a soft moan as he licks the blood from her throat. His moist tongue dragging up her neck should make her feel disgusted or violated, three years ago she probably would have screamed for help, but the shivers down her spine now are delicious. He licks her completely clean, placing a tender kiss on her scratch when he’s done. 

Sandor starts to pull back, and on instinct, Sansa grabs his collar and gets on her tip-toes to press her lips firmly to his. She never realized how different it feels to kiss someone rather than to be kissed. A surge of power rushes through Sansa’s veins, tingling over her skin, as the large man submits to her kiss.

Sansa leans deeper into his mouth, memorizing the shape of him, her toes trembling under her weight. In her dreams, he had tasted of copper and ash. She is surprised by the sweetness she finds. 

He growls into her mouth, grabbing her waist and lifting her into his arms. Sansa doesn’t open her eyes as she’s spun around, her back pressed against the rough stone wall. Sandor’s body could not be more different from Joffrey’s, where Joffrey is all taunt boyishness, Sandor is a scarred wreck of a man. A beautiful ruin, just like her.

Sandor’s embrace completely surrounds her in warmth and safety, his every growl and moan vibrating in her mouth and sending jolts of delicious heat to her womanhood. The stone biting into her back feels softer than the silk-sheeted bed she shares with her husband, if Sansa keeps her eyes closed she can pretend that she can stay here in Sandor’s arms with her back against the wall. Where no Lannister can get to her.

Sansa’s lips are still red and tingling when Sandor releases her mouth, panting as if he hadn’t been breathing the whole kiss. Sansa lets her face fall to his shoulder, nuzzling into the warmth there.

“You’re not going to kill me, are you?” Sansa asks, her voice unable to decide if it is disappointed or relieved.

“Never.”

“I thought killing was the sweetest thing that there is?” 

“That was before you kissed me.” 

A smile split across Sansa’s face. Her laughter light as the breeze itself. After several moments, his hand reached up to cup her cheek. Her whole cheek was covered by one palm, his fingers slipping into her moist hair and warming her scalp.

“I’ll kill him for you. All you have to do is ask.”

Sandor vowed into the darkness. Sansa didn’t respond except take his hand and kiss the palm. She would remember that, maybe take him up on it someday. Maybe not. Sansa didn’t know, she only knew one thing...

“May I ask you a different favor then?”

He sighed, resigned. 

“Anything for you.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

Sandor laughed. Not quite mocking, more in disbelief. 

“I want it to be my choice, just for once. If I have to live the rest of my days as a caged little bird, let me have one moment that’s mine.” Sansa begged.

Not a heartbeat more passed before Sandor’s lips were back on hers, her back pushed harder against the stones. His hand was in-between her legs, feeling the softness of lingering baby fat on the girl who had been forced to grow up too quickly.

“I knew deep down you longed to have your perfect feathers ruffled.” Sandor rasped into her ear like a secret as he tugged off her panties and hiked up her dress.

“Please.” Sansa chirped, spreading her legs like little bird wings.

Sandor’s fingers slip into her easily, her moisture dripping onto his palm. Sansa moaned, the sound swallowed by his larger mouth. He pulled his fingers out, his cock weeping with years of longing. 

Sandor wasn’t gentle and neither was Sansa. Her nails dug into his back as she came, her teeth sank into his lips. The wolfishness spurred Sandor on, to take her harder and faster as if he could fuck her out of his system. 

Sansa fell limp against the stones after she finished, her body hot and soft with sweat despite the coldness of the night. Her hands clung to his hair, unwilling to let go. And she didn’t let go, not until the sun was nearly risen and Joffrey was soon to wake.

Sandor grabbed her arm as she moved to leave. 

“Sansa...promise me, you’ll never kill yourself. I...I know sometimes that seems like the best choice, and I’m not entirely sure it isn’t. But don’t because” - I can’t live without you - “you can just find me if you ever need to.”

“I promise, Sandor.” 

Sansa placed a bittersweet kiss to his scarred cheek, reluctantly making her way back to Joffrey. Her heart no longer felt cold and hollow, but swirling with promise. 

It wasn’t perfect after that. Sansa had many nights where she had to find Sandor. Some nights they made love, other nights they simply cried. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something, it was one candle in the dark, and that was enough for a time.

Three weeks later, the maester declared Sansa was with child. Joffrey was relieved, so was Sansa, because she knew in her heart of hearts that the baby was not Joffrey’s. And that she was not letting the lions get their claws into her and Sandor’s baby.


End file.
